Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 6

Part 6

"Staring Contest"

For four whole days, Lewis managed to forget about the strange feeling of being watched, of something nefarious going on with the artwork--there were certain portions of the exhibit hall he avoided entirely. As far as appearances went, it worked; he kept his head down, got his work done, and there wasn't a whole lot of fuss around him as Krasimir Schlimme led the odd tour group through the museum, and Mr. Gilroy greeted him every day with the happy, sing-song "Goood morning, Lewis!" in light of all the generous donations and positive press the little art house was getting.

Lewis was even becoming accustomed to the eccentricities of the artist himself. Between tours, Krasimir Schlimme started rearranging some of the exhibits. Lewis would come in and there would suddenly be a crew of movers in matching jumpsuits, readjusting walls and moving the larger display cases to different parts of the room. By his next shift, there would be a noticeable layer of dust and drywall particles over the shelves and floor, and he would have to redevelop a system for navigating the room with the wide-brush broom. A further duty added to his list whenever a rearrangement happened was to crate up all the pieces of framed art that had been displaced, and while he cleaned, Adolf would stop in to take the crate somewhere. When Lewis asked Gilroy what happened to those extra pieces, the bespectacled old man rubbed the bald spot on the back of his head. "I suppose he sends them down to the basement for storage," he said.

Lewis blinked. "I didn't even know this museum had a basement," he mused.

Gilroy nodded. "Oh yes! Just a few rooms down below ground-level where we keep damaged or seasonal artwork." A grin found its way onto the old man's wrinkled face as he leaned in and dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "I've seen Schlimme's movers loading crates and sculptures into the back entrance. The other day when I was down there looking after some Degas paintings, I saw that he'd filled his reserved section with a collection of fierce-looking sculptures and statues. He did say he was planning a special exhibit for the Halloween season; perhaps that is why he's so keen on rearranging things."

The display case with the unicorn and the gryphon was the most noticeable change over the ensuing week. Occasionally, it would be moved against the back wall, or positioned in the center of the room, with the free-standing display walls arranged in a circular labyrinthine path around it--but Lewis noticed that the very next day after that happened, Krasimir Schlimme didn't lead any tours, and the case was shifted to the wall again. Other than that, the smaller displays with the "fairies" and the "elves" in their miniature settings with their whimsical details shifted around very little, and cycled through.

Lewis entered Moulton House on the fifth day and stopped in surprise. The unicorn sat alone in a smaller display case, and a few of the walls had been arranged in a box around one side of the room. Hanging from thin silver wires suspended from the ceiling was the gryphon, its claws and talons still outstretched, looking like it had been frozen now in the midst of dive-bombing the patrons of the museum.

Lewis shuddered as he imagined the feel of those thick, curved claws sinking into his skin.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Lewis nearly jumped out of his skin.
Krasimir Schlimme held him fast, but the artist's eyes were fixed on the hanging gryphon sculpture. "Like it?" he asked. "I decided it would be a better fit to have it hanging overhead, to add to the immersive feel of the whole exhibit." Schlimme waved a hand to the far back corner of the exhibit hall, where glittering fairies hung from clear threads, suspended in midair like beads on a string. A lot of strands hanging together reminded Lewis of a beaded curtain. He also noticed that with added clay moulding and paint over them, the "fairies" didn't quite look like living creatures anymore. Perhaps it really was a flight of his imagination, a result of overthinking things that had led him to assume something nefarious about these displays. They were, all of them, nothing more than pretty and strange objects to look at.

Lewis observed the boxed-in area at the side closest to the outer wall of the room. "What's going in there?" he asked Mr. Schlimme.

A smile crept over Krasimir's face and his steel-colored eyes glinted. "Oh, that? I have a--ahem!--rather large piece that will be displayed there, but she's not quite ready yet."

Lewis frowned at his use of pronouns. "She?" he asked.

Krasimir snorted. "It!" He amended. "I meant the sculpture, of course. Still painting it and whatnot. It's kind of a big deal, you could say--that's why I had the walls installed." A small buzzing noise came from Krasimir's pocket, and he turned away from Lewis while pulling out his cell phone and muttering softly.

Lewis shrugged and commenced sweeping up the array of dust and crumbs that still managed to cling to the edges of the exposed floor. He made it around the walls and display cases, dumping the pile of debris into his trash cart with a satisfying clatter.
"Whoa, cool!" gushed a voice near the door.

Lewis turned as Quincy walked into the exhibit hall. Frowning, he edged toward her quickly.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded with a frown. "No one is visiting right now!"

Quincy wrinkled her nose at him. "Um, the museum is open to the public, dingus," she retorted. "And besides, if nobody's supposed to be in here during business hours, they should have better signage out there!" she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, toward the atrium.

Lewis rolled his eyes and pushed some loose hair off his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked again.

The dark-haired girl shrugged as she wandered between the walls and examined the displays. "I just wanted to come down here to see what had you so distracted last week."

Lewis frowned. "I thought you didn't like art, because it didn't communicate anything," he remarked.

Quincy only shrugged. "I don't, you're right," she acknowledged. "But when somebody comes in and tells me that one of our professors is assigning folklore papers on the subject of fairies..." she trailed off and stared right at Lewis, as if she could read his mind. "A girl gets kind of curious, that's all." She gestured to the exhibit hall. "I can kind of see the appeal, I'll admit. This room is full of crazy stuff!" She stopped by the display case with the unicorn and pressed her hand against the glass. "You almost can't tell exactly where the horn attaches--like it grew as naturally as antlers on a deer." She squinted at the creature's face. "How does an artist get that level of detail?"

"I guess Krasimir Schlimme is just really good at what he does," Lewis shrugged his shoulders and shuffled back to his trash cart. She hadn't noticed; maybe if he moved on before she could figure it out--

"So..." Quincy's voice stopped him as he neared the door to the exhibit hall. He turned to see her smiling with that same searching expression in her eyes that she'd worn when he first asked her for fairy and folklore reference material. "How's that paper going?"

Lewis froze, but he remembered to concentrate on his facial expressions and his breathing, keeping everything level. How much truth could he say to convince her of the lie? "Um, still trying to figure things out," he said. "Thanks for reminding me that I should stop by the library to return the books I don't need before Study Hall tonight."

Anything else Quincy had to say was cut off by the door closing between them. Lewis waited in the Janitor's Closet until he was sure Quincy would be forced to leave.

As he finished packing up his things, he checked the hallway and found it empty. Lewis crossed into the front hall, but before he could reach the large double doors at the front, they opened and a crew of people dressed in blue jumpsuits and wearing hard hats entered, dragging with them large crates balanced on rolling dollies.

Krasimir Schlimme emerged from his rented office immediately and greeted them. "Ah yes! You are here. Good! Right this way, in here." He gestured toward Exhibit Hall G, and Lewis waited at the side of the entrance until all the workers had entered, and scurried on his way.

A large truck with the label "WAREHOUSE 31" emblazoned on the side stood waiting at the kerb. Lewis slowed his pace, watching until he saw a team of those same jumpsuited workers emerge from some utility door at the side of the museum with a similar crate as the ones they'd brought in, which they loaded into the truck and sent off to who-knows-where.

Lewis frowned, gave himself a shake, and headed off toward the dorms. He needed to make good on his word and return all those borrowed books before Study Hall, or Quincy would call him out, for sure!

The next day, Lewis entered as once again, the arrangement of the pieces had changed. There were more of those "fairy curtains" (possibly because Krasimir liked the effect), and different framed artwork on the walls.

Full of curiosity, Lewis wandered around as he swept, exploring the new pieces and identifying the ones he'd seen before--such as Queen's Court. He stopped cold when he saw that one, those piercing and oh-so-real eyes staring back at him from within the painted scenario. He found himself drawn in by her painted gaze--and the closer he got, the harder it became to convince himself that it really was painted. Glass, perhaps? But where could one find glass beads so small and lifelike?

His own heartbeat throbbed in his ears, such was the quietness of the empty room. Lewis gripped the handle of the broom in his hands so tightly, his knuckles ached, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. The longer he stared, the more he actually started to entertain the idea that this thing might actually be real, perhaps alive, even.

"You're not alive," he whispered underneath his breath, his face mere inches away from the glass pane resting over the display. "Are you?"

His eyes fixed on her eyes. He was never very good at staring contests, but today felt like a lucky day. One slight twitch, the merest flutter of an eyelash...

Lewis blinked as his own eyeballs ached. Tears welled in the corners, and as he rubbed his eyes, a small disruption arrested his attention once more. He froze and commenced staring again--but not at her eyes, this time. He fixated on the tender hands, extended toward the glass and posed, as if she could reach right out of the frame. He honed on them, noting the intricate detail, every crease in the skin, the delicate nails...

The twitch of a single finger.

Lewis felt his heart shudder as his brain scrambled to understand. Had he just seen the sculpture move? Surely not! He stared hard at the hand, memorizing every angle of every finger.
"Do it again," he muttered softly, without moving his lips. "Can you hear me in there?"

He stared hard enough for his eyeballs to start hurting. Part of him hoped that he'd been imagining things, but there was still a small portion of him that was rather excited at the notion of actually witnessing real-live humanoid creatures only six inches high...

"Was ist das?"

The warm, harsh tones hissing in his ear caused Lewis's whole body to spasm. He fumbled the broom in his hand, catching the corner of the frame with the end of the handle. The display dropped with a spectacular crash, and with it, Lewis felt his stomach sink into his shoes.
Krasimir Schlimme stood behind him, his face a hard mask of cold fury.

"I'm sorry, sir!" Lewis stammered, moving to sweep away the shattered pieces of glass around the frame that landed face-down.

"Nicht!" The artist swooped in front of him and seized the frame. He flipped it over, revealing the crushed and deformed backdrop, while the subject's limbs dangled loosely. Lewis couldn't help noticing how the torn dress and the way the arms draped gave the figure a rather flesh-and-blood appearance, as opposed to the stiffness of sculpted limbs...

He put all thought of the mysterious figurine out of his mind when he realized that Krasimir Schlimme was currently staring murderously at him.

The man's arm twitched, as if he would very much like to smack Lewis across the face, but somehow, Lewis figured out that he couldn't react too strongly in front of the security cameras.

"You have ruined a priceless piece of irreparable, irreplaceable art, boy," Schlimme spat, shaking the frame so that the limbs that had detached from the display waggled and flopped around. Carrying the frame tenderly in two hands, Krasimir Schlimme crossed the room to where a small crate of the replaced artwork rested. He gently set the broken display on top and lifted the crate himself. Turning to glare at Lewis, he growled, "See that nothing of this sort happens to any of the others!"

Lewis stood rooted to the spot until Krasimir Schlimme's footsteps faded into the distance. He finished sweeping up the glass and did his best to carefully sweep around the open portions of flooring in the rest of the exhibit hall, but the whole exchange had stirred up something in his mind. Every display he passed, he again recalled the way the dangling arms had swung around, the way that, out from behind the glass pane, the figurine didn't look sculpted by tools or human hands. Part of him wanted to examine the others closely, but another part of him didn't want to be responsible for breaking yet another display!

He finished his cleaning duties and cleared out of the exhibit hall as quickly as he could. Back in his street clothes, with his backpack slung over one shoulder, Lewis slipped out into the hallway, hoping not to encounter anyone on his way out, but unfortunately he heard voices coming from the direction of Schlimme's private office.

"... adjust the dosage," he was saying. "It appears to be wearing off faster than we anticipated."

Adolf's gravelly voice replied, "I'll see that it's done, master."

Lewis gave his very best ninja impression, speeding for the door as silently as he could manage, lest either man catch him still in the building and wonder what he heard. Master? What kind of ancient jargon was that? Why not just call him "sir"? And what did Schlimme mean by dosage? What was wearing off, and where was it wearing from?

Lewis shook his head and took a deep breath as the doors of Moulton House closed behind him. He was too young to get so preoccupied about things that very obviously didn't concern him.

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